I Will Follow You Into the Dark
by bitterending
Summary: [DH SPOILERS] Fred had always been afraid of the dark. It was foolish, really, with all things considered. He was fearless with faced with nearly anything else, but alone in a dark room he felt helpless.


Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me.  
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Fred had always been afraid of the dark. It was foolish, really, with all things considered. He was fearless with faced with nearly anything else, but alone in a dark room he felt helpless. Only George knew, of course, and he kept it a secret with minimal teasing. He complained at first about the annoyances the hidden nightlight graced him with, but he eventually grew used to it, and Fred appreciated his tolerance.

It was always obvious when a place wasn't light enough. George would suddenly feel Fred pressed right beside him, and sometimes he would let out a soft, frightened noise from the back of his throat. George would reach out to clasp his hand and whisper, "nothing to be afraid of," in his ear until he felt Fred slowly relax against him. It was touching, really. In every other instance, George was obviously the more sensitive of the two of them, as if those extra eight minutes in his mother's womb made him softer and more cautious than his twin, but when it came to the dark, Fred seemed to take on the gentle qualities, falling quiet and being sure to stay close to George until light returned.

Once, when they were children, the nightlight had somehow gone out, and neither of them knew how to repair it in the solid darkness of midnight. George hadn't even had the chance to offer before Fred dove under his covers beside him, trembling slightly as he nuzzled into George's chest. George had laughed playfully at him. "C'mon, Freddie, there's nothing to be afraid of." He assured condescendingly, but Fred shook his head and whimpered nervously, scooting as close as he could possibly manage to his brother. Feeling slightly guilty, George stifled his laugher and draped an arm over Fred's waist, noticing how his shivering stopped instantaneously.

They never talked about Fred's phobia in front of anyone else, but the day they moved into the Hogwarts dormitory, George asked Fred what he was going to do about their roommates.

"Do you care if they think you're a baby?"

"I'm _not_ a baby, George."

"_They_ won't think that."

Fred looked a little distressed about this thought for a moment. "Well the dark's not—it's fine as long as _you're_ there." George contemplated what he was suggesting, and then shrugged.

"Okay, I'll stay with you." Fred grinned at him. "But you have to wait until everyone else falls asleep. Otherwise they'll still call you a baby." Fred looked unsure for a moment, and began half-heartedly practicing _Lumos_ with his wand. It flickered and died within a few seconds. "You can pretend to do your homework, or hide under the covers." George offered helpfully. Fred nodded uneasily. "And I'll have to wake up once it's light enough and go to my own bed, 'cause people will think us sleeping in the same bed is weird." At that, Fred looked a downright nervous.

"How light is 'light'?" he asked cautiously. George sighed.

"I dunno, Freddie." He grumbled, "Dawn?"

Fred didn't look particularly happy about that. "Can we try you just staying, maybe? I mean, nobody else here's a twin. We could pull it off as one of _those_ _things._" George couldn't help but smile. Fred never begged for anything. With a sigh, he nodded.

"Alright, alright. But if rumors start up, I'm gonna stop letting people see me." Fred punched his arm, but he was grinning.

In their third year, George learned how to cast a personal light charm on the inside of Fred's curtains. A faint glow fell over Fred's sheets, invisible to anyone looking from outside his drapes. "See there?" George murmured, ruffling his brother's hair, "Nothing to be afraid of." Fred seemed placated, but sometimes George would worry. Being unable to see from Fred's point of view, he had a problem with thinking it was still too dark, and would often sneak into Fred's bed late at night to keep him company. Of course, he'd always realize how foolish he was acting once he'd pull back the curtain, but Fred never turned him away.

At home during vacations, and after they left Hogwarts, dim light filled the room at night. A spell could have been cast, but George didn't want to be bothered with worrying about his brother; thinking it was too dark for him. Being able to tell how light the room was gave him the assurance that Fred was satisfied, as well.

It was going to be dark in there, George realized suddenly, as he tugged uncomfortably at his black necktie. It's going to be inescapably dark, and Fred's going to be all alone. George felt his chest tighten. What could he do? He had to do something. He was Fred's brother—he'd always been there for him before. George's breathing was quickening uncomfortably as he heard the man standing at the front begin to wrap up his speech. He had to do something _now._

As the door to the coffin slid shut, George jumped to his feet. "NO!" He shouted without thinking, racing down the isle. He felt someone try to grab his arm, but he pulled out of the grip. "No, no, he'll get—he'll get scared!" He vaguely registered that Fred would kill him if he ever found out that he'd spilled his secret, but he couldn't just let them—Fred would have to forgive him. Someone shouted his name and a hand grabbed at him again, but he kept moving.

"Open it!" George screamed as he reached the coffin, "He hates the dark! He can't—he can't stand it! Open it!" He clawed at it for a moment before realizing it was locked. "OPEN IT!" He screamed hysterically, pounding his fists on the wood, "PLEASE! YOU'VE GOT TO! HE'LL BE SCARED! HE CAN'T _STAND _IT! PLEASE!" Someone was suddenly pulling on him, trying to drag him back to his seat.

"Come on, Georgie," said his father's voice very quietly in his ear, "he's gone." George shook his head and pulled away, feeling a tug on his robes as his father refused to let go. He was so close; he just needed to get to his wand.

"No, _stop it!_ Let me go—it's too dark in there! He'll—he _needs_ me—GOD _DAMNIT_, LET GO!" He wrenched himself out of his father's grasp and dug around in his robes for a moment to fish out his wand, flinging the lid back. He stopped then and looked at his brother's serine face.

His breathing slowed slightly, and he could hear his mother wailing behind him, his father's voice growing firm with reluctant discipline. A wave of shock hit him suddenly like a brick to his chest. "I can't go with you." He whispered as if he had just come to this conclusion. He felt his father pull at his arm.

"Come on, now, George, _please_. You're upsetting your mother."

"LET ME GO!" George wheeled around to face his father for the first time, causing Arthur to balk. "You didn't—he made me promise not to tell…" George turned back to the coffin and saw Fred's wand placed gently under his clasped hands. Tenderly, he pulled it out, weighing it slightly in his hands and smiling when he realized it felt almost exactly the same as his own.

He heard his father's protests, but he didn't move to grab his son again. George flicked the wand smoothly and light suddenly blossomed at the tip of it, illuminating both twins' faces. Biting his lip, George placed the wand back into his brother's hand, squeezing it gently as his other hand patted comfortingly at Fred's hair.

"There you are," he whispered shakily, and though he knew everyone in the room was listening, he couldn't bother to care, "Nothing to be afraid of." He leaned down and kissed his twin's forehead, but had barely pulled back before Arthur was hauling him away. At first, George thought they were just going back to their seats, but Arthur led him out the door onto the lawn of the church.

"What has gotten _into_ you, George?" He asked harshly, his grip on his son's arm tightening enough to make George wince. "That was _entirely_ uncalled for, making a spectacle like that! Do you have any idea how much you upset your mother just now? For God's sake, George—don't you feel bad about that at all?" George shook his head.

"No."

Arthur blinked at him. His face suddenly hardened into a scowl, and it occurred to George that he rarely saw his father look so angry. "No? _No?_ Christ, George, I know this is hard for you—perhaps harder than it even is for the rest of us—but do you really want to _hurt_ everyone this way?"

George shook his head again, feeling a lump at the back of his throat. "He'll get scared, dad." He said quietly, trying to keep his voice even. "He hates the dark—he gets scared." Arthur furrowed his brow, looking disbelievingly at his son for a moment.

"Fred was—was he honestly afraid of the dark?"

George opened his mouth to say something, but instead decided on nodding, a few tears beginning to escape down his cheeks. "He didn't…he didn't want anyone else to know, but—but it made him nerv—nervous."

"But he never…I mean, he never _seemed_ upset in the dark."

At this, George watched his vision swim as the tears grew to be too many to hold back. "He—" George reached up and swiped a hand roughly across his eyes. "That's because he always—had me." He swallowed thickly, but nothing could stop it, now. George suddenly felt as if his body weighed three times more than usual, and he crashed to his knees. "_I'm leaving him all alone._"

He felt a hand on his shoulder as Arthur tried to think of something comforting to say, but George interrupted him before he could even try. "He _needs _me and I'm leaving him all alone—we're not supposed to be apart! I shouldn't _be_ here! I don't deserve it any more than he does!" There was a scratching sound as Arthur moved to sit beside his son on the pavement.

"George…"

"See there!" George interrupted unexpectedly, sounding almost angry. "_That!_ I've never been just _George._ You've always addressed us together! I'm not used to—to being alone…"

Arthur didn't say anything for a moment, and then he ventured, "You're not _alone,_ George. There are seven of us going through—"

"NO, THERE AREN'T!"

The outburst startled Arthur into abrupt silence. "No, dad, there _aren't_ seven of you going through the same thing." George tried to speak evenly, but the tears were starting to come back. "He wasn't—wasn't just my brother, dad. He was my _twin._ We weren't ever apart, re—really, never on purpose. We worked together, we lived together—we never thought it was going to change." George curled against himself, trying to convince himself that the arms wrapped tightly around his waist were Fred's rather than his own.

"We liked—we liked things the way they were." As he said this, George dissolved into tears, and Arthur felt an odd pang in his stomach when he realized this was the first time since the twins were toddlers that he'd ever seen George cry.

"George…George, do you want to go home?"

"_I want__ Fred._" George sobbed without thinking.

Arthur seemed to take that as an affirmative answer, for the next thing George knew, his father was scooping him up in his arms and turning on his heel. Although George was only an inch or so shorter than his father, Arthur didn't set his son on his feet when they arrived at the Burrow. He carried him inside and up the stairs, down the hall to the twins' old room. George made no protest, clinging tightly to his father's coat and weeping heavily into his chest.

When Arthur dropped his feet gently to the floor, George didn't let go. His knuckles were stark white and still clenched in his father's jacket as his head fell against his shoulder. Arthur wrapped his arms around him, and pulled him close, waiting for his sobs to subside before he spoke.

"I have to get back to your mother, George." He felt George nod weakly. "I want you to get some rest." George pulled away and fell back onto Fred's bunk. He nodded again. Arthur felt a lump gather in his throat, but he coughed in effort to clear it away. "We'll be back after the—the burial." He murmured brokenly. George kicked off his shoes and nodded again. He seemed to have slipped back into the state of numbness he had been in before the funeral. He didn't even seem to realize he was lying in Fred's bed. On his way out, Arthur automatically pulled out his wand and waved the lights off, casting the room into solid blackness.

George didn't even realize how dark it was until after he heard his door shut. The light they'd kept in the Burrow had been taken with them to their flat above the shop, of course, but it seemed so strange to no longer need to worry about a room not being bright enough. George was suddenly struck with panic. What if he were to forget that one detail about his twin? After so many years it would undoubtedly happen, but he couldn't bear the thought of forgetting Fred's one true fear, the one thing that seemed to make him more human than anything else about him.

And then another thought ran through his head. _What if Fred were in this room right now?_ It wasn't unlikely, really, but would he still be scared? Or would it be something else entirely? Would he think that George had forgotten him? Or worse, would he think that he was _relieved_ that he was gone, so that he could sleep in perfect darkness for once? No. He couldn't let Fred think that. It was ridiculous. George leapt from the bed with a start and grabbed his wand, waving it a little too wildly and making the charm crackle and buzz with soft irritation.

The room glowed with faint light, and instantly, George felt the dread slide away. His breathing slowly returned to normal as he looked around the room for any sign that his brother had been nearby. He took a deep breath and released it loudly as he fell back onto his pillow, dropping his wand on the bedside table.

"Nothing to be afraid of."

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A/N: I'm not entirely sure how this idea first blossomed in my head, but I rather like how it played out, I think. Of course, it's 10:11am, and I haven't slept in offically twenty-four hours now, but I kinda like how it was Arthur for once. I never really write parents into my stories much, so that was kinda fun. Or as fun as writing angsty Weasleys can get, I suppose. Now I must go study for my history exam on Monday. Ta.


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